


Wholly Humble Heart

by etal



Category: Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, One Shot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 17:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17985602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etal/pseuds/etal
Summary: Balcony sex with feelings. Attempt at book voice, film visuals.





	Wholly Humble Heart

Oliver and I loved to indulge in dissecting what we had each believed about the other in the weeks before I hurled myself at him, a moth beating its frantic wings against a glass jar, wanting only to immolate itself on the candle within. There were so many gaps in our story, joint but separately written as it was, and multiple misreadings to pick over and analyse with scholarly precision, moments of hurt which had to be remembered and then chased away with kisses.

One evening we had the house to ourselves: B. was holding its annual _sagra_ and though we promised to join my parents there later I could tell from their droll expressions that we were not really expected to appear.

As soon as the household had chattered its way into the car, Mafalda wearing her best blouse and Anchise his jacket with its military medals of doubtful origin, Oliver had tugged me upstairs and out onto the balcony. He wanted to have me there, whatever the logistical complications, and had told me so in a dirty whisper, pressed up against my back in the pool that morning. He loved to fuck outside, although he was always watchful, ready to break off and disguise what we were up to if someone stumbled across us. I didn’t care. I half-wanted it to happen, for a walker in the wood to see us up against a tree close to the river, the shouts of my friends swimming and splashing in the water audible from where we were, our hands on each other’s cocks, my teeth set on his shoulder, one foot wrapped round the solid muscle of his calf to keep myself upright while he made my knees buckle. My eyes would always be closed, or only focused on him, on his mouth, his neck, but he would flit his gaze around, checking the exits, I later thought, watching for danger. No-one ever saw us, but I wished they had. I would have liked the imagined scene of defiant defence of our love-making, with myself heroic, standing between Oliver and anyone who would dare insult or harm him. 

Tonight, though, there was no-one to see when he led me out and had me stand there on the balcony, facing out into the dark, my hands gripping the wrought iron. He took my shorts off but left me my sweater against the cool evening air.

“That night when you came to me out here…” he said into my neck, and then stopped, he shifted behind me and I felt him hard against the small of my back. He drifted his fingers across my face and down my neck, to touch my chest and reach beneath my sweater to tuck under my armpit. I lifted my arm, wanting to twine it back around his head and encourage his lips down to find the places behind my ear that made me squirm, but he put his hand down firmly over mine to keep my fingers curled around the railing. I understood that I was to stay still.

His warm touch was light between my legs, smoothing up and down my thighs and sweeping long, unsatisfyingly gentle strokes over my cock. With Oliverian forethought he had come prepared even to this spontaneous grasping of opportunity and so there was lotion ready to aid him to ease one thick finger, then another, into me, an arm around my chest drawing me up onto my toes. He was so strong.

“Before that, when I came in, do you remember?”

I didn’t try to answer. He knew I did. 

“You were playing for your parents and their friends. They were gathered round you, gazing at you like you were a miracle. I’ve never seen someone so loved. It was like looking at a painting. The Adoration of Elio."

I tried to move back against him, to take his fingers deeper into myself or to hasten the moment when he would fuck me properly. I didn’t want to be reminded of myself as a beloved son. I just wanted to be his.

“l thought about joining you all - I knew I couldn’t. They would have been kind of course, but I felt like such an intruder. And what I was about to do, what I was hoping for...”

He released my chest and I bent forward a little, putting my weight on the railing and he moved his free hand to my lips, giving me two fingers to suck, mirroring his touch in my ass. 

I could feel particles of rust and paint flaking under my fingertips; like everything else the balcony was being remade under his touch, losing its edges piece by piece. The whole world seemed mobile: the breeze troubling the trees, the restless songs of cicadas and nightjars, and out there beyond the drive and the villa walls, I imagined the agitated surface of the lake water and then the village _en fête_. I felt the very stones of our house in motion, crumbling away atom by atom. In the midst of all the busy sad beautiful life of things, endlessly dissolving and changing, I was the only still being, because he told me to be so.

I remembered how I’d seen him come in that night, his green shirt unbuttoned, his hair dishevelled, already looking a little rucked-up and undone and absolutely desirable. At the time I’d thought only “there he is” and felt the tight leap of delight and dread that had been building in me all that long day. Now I thought of it, I saw his moment of hesitancy, and imagined how I must have looked to him then, as my playing, though feigning universality, called out only to him for his notice and his pleasure, even when he hadn’t been there to hear it. 

“I was a mess,” he said. He took his fingers away from my mouth and I gasped at the emptiness, gulped a breath of air to replace them and then moaned as he found my cock with a proper, firm grip and leaned in to speak against my ear.

“I’d been hard all day, jesus, and trying not to jerk off because I couldn’t without thinking about what I wanted to do to you. I was stripping your clothes off every time I looked at you, thinking about you under me, the noises you would make.”

I moaned again.

“Yeah, just like that.” He let go of my cock and wrapped a hand around my thigh to steady me as he slipped his fingers out. I pushed back against him again, hungry and unashamed, and he was there, ready to do it like I wanted him to. I was up on my toes again, instep stretching, calves burning, trying to make myself as easy for him as I could. 

“I felt like a monster, like I was defiling you, imagining you in that way, however much you were trying to provoke me. I must have cycled close to fifty miles that afternoon trying to wear myself out, get my mind off you. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you, what you were up to. The guys at the bar took me for every cent.”

I was shivering, not cold, but wanting so badly for it to begin. He lips were at the back of my neck and he licked me, up to my hairline, around my ear, delicate when he knew that I would be wanting it to be fierce.

“I sat at the lake for hours. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get through dinner. Your mouth...”

He took hold of me again, at hip and shoulder, and pushed in, one thrust then another and I gripped the railing, feeling the bite of its hard edge, grateful for its solidity. Though I was used to his cock by that time, there was still always a moment when its stretch was something I could feel taking over my whole body, wonderful but obliterating.

Once he’d sunk into me, he kept us there, joined deep and full. Under my obedient stillness, my mind reeled in its habitual Babel litany, falling towers of words collapsing into nonsense before they found their center: balcony, balcon, balk, con, cul, cute, culo, chiaro, oculare, ocular, oliver, lovelier, oliver oliver oliver

“Oliver…” It was just a whisper. I couldn’t help it.

“And I thought you wouldn’t come. I thought maybe I was wrong to take you away from them. Better… better if I stayed out here on my own.”

His hand was back on my cock, he was letting me move. It wasn’t easy but he found the right angle, holding me loosely and gave it to me, keeping that warm large grip wrapped round me, dipping back to round my balls, to touch where he was buried in me. I braced and rocked with him, trying to show him with my wholly given body, that I was all his, now and forever, that coming to him that night might have been an experiment but there had been no alternative. It was unthinkable now that I would not have opened the door and stepped out to meet him, into this liminal place between inside and outside, suspended above the ordinary world.

“Elio,” he said, “we’re here,” and I came in his fist, and he pulled me closer, kept me standing, and put his forehead into the crook of my neck as he took the last of me. I wished I could see him, his dear face, but it was comforting to be in the dark too, to be part of it, together. I thought of him sitting out here alone, all those nights, when he was trying to be honorable and I brought his hand to my lips to kiss it, then to drag it up to cover my face so that we would both be hidden in each other, seeing only each other, as close as two people could be in this moving world.

**Author's Note:**

> Title nicked from Martin Stephenson and the Daintees' lovely song [Wholly Humble Heart](https://daintees.bandcamp.com/track/wholly-humble-heart)  
> ('there is no time to kiss a statue/someone who purely looks the part')
> 
> etal-later on tumblr


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